


it's no use crying over spilled milk

by Pachamama9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Family Fluff, Harry Is A Good Uncle, Love, Weasley-Potter family love, Wholesome, just a touch of angst, lots of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pachamama9/pseuds/Pachamama9
Summary: Terrified by the storm one night, little Rose goes downstairs for a glass of milk to soothe her. Her Uncle Harry finds her there and comforts her.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Rose Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	it's no use crying over spilled milk

Another _crack_ of lightning and a roar of thunder, and then Rose Weasley decided she had had enough. She wasn't used to being afraid—it was a strange feeling—but now that she was experiencing one of the scariest moments in her life, she knew she wanted out. She didn't want to crawl over to her little brother's room to sleep with him. He'd never let her live it down. She decided going to sleep in her parents' room was a bad idea as well. She was six years old and far too old to need her parents' comfort. 

She decided the best idea was to go downstairs into the kitchen for a glass of milk. Milk always made her feel better.

She tried to creep as quietly as she could down the stairs, but the top ones were a bit creaky. An incredibly bright light flashed in the window, and Rose cowered in fear. 

She did not like storms. She did not like thunder. She did not like lightning.

Her heart was racing now, and she raced to the light switch so that she was no longer drenched in darkness and the horrors that it held. She caught her breath as she looked around, double checking for any monsters or creepy-crawlies. Then, she pulled her robe tighter around her and tiptoed to the fridge. The door to it was always heavy, but she managed to pull it open by herself. A bit too late, Rose realized that she was not tall enough to reach the milk, which was on the top shelf. She thought about this problem. Usually Mum and Dad were here with her. They were tall enough to reach the milk jug. 

Her shoulders slumped. But she did not want to get them. She would be in trouble for staying awake past her bedtime and for going downstairs.

Thunder roared, practically shaking the house with its angry hands, and Rose whimpered and jumped. Once it was not over, she made yet another decision. She would not go upstairs until she had gotten her milk. She closed the refrigerator door and grabbed the chair closest to her. She then flung the refrigerator door open again and pushed the chair between the crack. She climbed up onto the chair, and stretched for the jug, having to go on her tiptoes just to reach the handle. Rose wrapped her tiny fingers around the handle and started to slide it off of the ledge. She let out an _oof_ as the entire weight wrenched her arms all the way down, but she did not drop it. She nearly fell off of the chair, though. She slid off of it and swung the milk jug into the counter. She frowned. It was far heavier than she expected. Nevertheless, she slides the chair back into position, climbs onto it, and kneels, grabbing the milk jug.

_I need a cup,_ she thought, and she slid the chair over to a set of cabinets. She opened the closest one and examined the contents inside. An array of glasses and mugs met her eyes. She saw a beautiful flowery glass that Mum liked to use. Wanting the feeling of her mum, she picked it up from the shelf and scooted the chair back over to the table. She lifted up the milk jug with both hands and shakily lifted it to the rim of the glass. The milk was suddenly pouring far too quickly, and the force of it was pushing the glass across the table.

Lightning struck close to the window just before an exploding _clap_ of thunder, and Rose dropped the milk.

The force of the jug shoved the glass off of the table and it shattered against the floor as Rose let out a tiny scream.

She felt her face go bright red. She hadn't meant to—she hadn't meant to break the glass. She had only wanted a cup of milk before going to bed. She felt her eyes beginning to fill with tears. That had been her mother's _favorite_ cup, and it was expensive. She'd be so angry...

"Rose?" She looked up, frightened out of her mind. The tears were streaming down her face now, and she tried to blubber out an apology.

It was Uncle Harry. His inky black hair was uncontrollable and messy as usually, but not pressed to the side as if he'd been sleeping. He rubbed his bright green eyes. It looked like he'd been trying to sleep for a while.

"I-I-I—" Rose stammered. "I didn't—" She burst into tears as the thunder roared again, shivering in fear.

"What happened?" he asked, spotting the glass. "Why are you up?"

Through her sobs, she managed to explain to her uncle why she'd been up and what she's been trying to do. He quickly Scourgified the spilled milk and swept the broken glass into the trash with a wave of his wand. He scooped her up and rubbed her back as she cried, saying, "It's okay, Rosie. Don't worry, it'll be fine. You don't have to cry. It's just a little spilled milk." Soon they both ended up in the chair as she sat in his lap, and she asked him why he was awake, too.

"Just like you, I reckon," he told her as he summoned two cups from the cabinet. "I couldn't sleep through the storm."

"But you're old," she commented, grasping her cup with both of her hands. "Old people aren't scared."

Uncle Harry only laughed, his eyes twinkling from behind his circular glasses. "I'm not that old, Rosie. And yes, grown-ups are scared of things, too."

"Like what?" He poured her a glass of milk, and she gratefully brought it to her lips, gulping it down.

"Like..." Uncle Harry pondered this for a moment. "Like your dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Scared to death of spiders. When he sees one" —he mimicked her father's actions with his fingers in front of her— "he jumps up onto the table, and he screams. Practically broke my eardrums a couple times."

Rose giggled. She didn't even know why she'd been crying. "What are you scared of?"

Uncle Harry's face faltered a bit. He thought about her question for a while. When he began to answer, he shifted her in his lap. "I'm scared of being alone, I guess. Being by yourself is scary."

Rose nodded. "It's okay," she told him, turning around and wrapping her little arms and his neck. "I'm here. You're not by yourself."

She could feel his face beginning to smile. "Thanks, Rosie. You're a smart kid, you know that?"

"I know," she chirped. "I read chapter books."

Uncle Harry's face broke into a brilliant smile. They told each other jokes into the night until the worst of the storm had passed, and Rose felt too tired to keep her eyes open any longer. She and Uncle Harry both had milk mustaches now, and that made her smile. He'd done his imitation of the Minister of Magic with it, and she's tried to copy him. She yawned. It was fun. She could barely even hear the sky crying anymore. It seemed that Uncle Harry and she had cheered up the sky as well as themselves.

The next morning, when her mum asked where her favorite glass was, Uncle Harry told her he'd broken it while doing the dishes. She wasn't angry at all, to Rose's surprise. She just shrugged. "I'll get another one online," she said.

Now, Rose was glad that Uncle Harry had found her downstairs last night.


End file.
